


The Spanking Booth

by mandysimo13



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternative First Meeting, Blow Jobs, Crack, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, John is a trashcan, Kissing, M/M, Silly Boys, Tumblr Prompt, and i love him, spanking booth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: Sherlock is hot on a case when everything in his mind comes to a screeching halt. The sight of a spanking booth and a hot, ex soldier soon have Sherlock throwing all cares to the wind; for charity of course!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a photo post made by nikoleedwards on tumblr. Credit, where credit is due!

 

Sherlock couldn’t remember at that exact moment why he was at the street fair. Something to do with a case, surely. But right then, his brain was short circuiting due to the picture in front of him. 

 

A big sign with garish theater lights illuminating a pink, heart shaped sign that bore the phrase “Spanking Booth” glowed happily and enticing customers to step up to its booth. Behind that booth stood two grinning individuals holding paddles and plying people with the promise of a spanking for charity. The woman was aesthetically pleasing, all dark hair and bright red lipstick, but it was the man that had his undivided attention. Greying blond, shining blue eyes, a smile a mile wide, and dressed in army fatigues. 

 

_ Good god, almighty, _ Sherlock cursed inwardly, swallowing thickly. 

 

Then the man caught him staring and the phrase “cat that got the cream” came to mind. He called out to Sherlock, “hey there, gorgeous. I can see someone who’s in the charitable mood.” He gestured with his paddle, “come on over.”

 

“Oh John, careful with that. Poor boy looks like he’s about to swallow his tongue,” the woman said to him, humor evident in her voice. 

 

“Hush, Irene,” the man - _ John _ \- said. 

 

Bugger the case. There were more pressing matters at hand. Or, rather, in his trousers. As if on autopilot, Sherlock walked over to the booth, eyeing the operations with curiosity and excitement. 

 

“What’s spanking got to do with charity,” he heard himself say harshly.

 

John shrugged and Irene answered. “It’s a bit more fun, than the “pie in the face” or dunking tank, don’t you think?”

 

Sherlock asked, “what’s the charity?”

 

“It’s for veterans returning from war,” John explained. “Give them a little help while they acclimate to civilian life.”

 

“Like yourself, then,” Sherlock blurted without thinking. John stiffened and Sherlock’s eyes went wide.  _ Buggering shit, _ Sherlock swore inside his head. 

 

John soon relaxed and asked, “what makes you think I’m still acclimating?” 

 

Sherlock spouted off his deductions, listing the length of his hair, barely visible tan lines, the still ingrained dirt on his standard issue boots, ending with the fact that he was in fatigues and manning a booth for veterans affairs, it wasn’t a large leap to make. 

John stared open mouthed at him for about ten seconds before his mouth spread into a grin. “That was extraordinary.”

 

Sherlock’s brain went offline for a split second. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Simply extraordinary.”

 

“You think so?”

 

John leaned on the booth, holding his paddle in both hands, grinning cheekily. “Now, don’t go fishing. You know that was brilliant. Why? What do people normally say when you do,” he gestured at Sherlock’s person, “that?”

 

“Piss off.”

 

They both laughed, only to be interrupted by Irene. “Okay chaps, is someone bending over the table for Queen and Country, or what?”

 

Sherlock blushed and John ducked his head, hiding his smile. “Who does the...that?” Sherlock asked, gesturing to the paddle. 

 

“Depends on how much you donate, there, big boy,” she told him. “One pound earns one swat. We cap the swats at fifteen, no matter how large the donation. You get the choice of John or myself, and we’ll administer them ourselves. Donate more than fifty and you get to spank one of us,” Irene explained. “Say stop at any time, the spankings stop and your lush behind is saved for another day.”

 

Sherlock blinked fiercely for a moment at how matter-of-factly she spoke before daring to ask, “has anyone actually donated over fifty quid today?”

 

Irene’s smile turned predatory. “Why?”

 

Sherlock’s blush flushed deeper. “N-no reason.” 

 

Irene laughed and went off to entice more customers to the booth. Sherlock slowly met John’s eyes, measuring the man before him. John was undeniably attractive, good humored, and confident. He was a man of action, clearly bored with his newfound civilian life. There was no way he’d have signed up for a spanking booth, otherwise, Sherlock was reasonably sure. Without breaking eye contact, Sherlock slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. He pulled out a crisp fifty note and held it out for John to take. John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s hands and drew him forward until the front of Sherlock’s body was pressed against the booth. 

 

Then he bent forward and whispered in Sherlock’s ear, “forgive me if I seem too forward, but my shift is over in half an hour. How about we reward your donation somewhere a little more private. Say, your place?”

 

Sherlock shivered at John’s voice in his ear, his breath against his neck. “Yes,” he huskily answered. 

 

John drew back and deliberately dropped Sherlock’s donation into the large jar on the table, already filled near to bursting. Then he said, “see you in thirty, gorgeous.”

 

Sherlock nodded, resisting the urge to adjust himself in his trousers and thanking every god listening that his Belstaff was an excellent concealer. “Thirty minutes,” he confirmed with a nod and strode off to find some peace, itching with anticipation. 

 

He never had been very good at waiting. But he was more sure of anything in his life that John would be worth the wait. 


	2. Chapter 2

Precisely thirty minutes later, Sherlock approached the spanking booth as nonchalantly as he can. He knew he must look ridiculous. Hands in his pockets, collar turned up even though it’s not cold, trying not to look equal parts eager and terrified. He’s a walking jumble of clues to a keen observer but none of that is registering more than fleetingly. 

 

All he knows is that John is done with his shift and promises were made. 

 

As soon as John spots him, his smile widened and he passed off his paddle to a man who’s come to take his place. He quickly turned to his companion and says, “thanks Murray, I owe you one.”

 

“Not at all, Watson. Go on, then,” Murray said with a chuckle, swatting John on his behind playfully with the paddle. 

 

Sherlock’s pulse quickened seeing the paddle in use.

 

John laughed and scolded half-heartedly, “that’ll cost you one quid, you. Cough it up!” Murray gave him him the two-finger-salute and finally,  _ finally!,  _ John exited the booth. He sauntered over to stand in front of Sherlock, his grin taking on a filthy quirk. 

 

“Glad to see you again,” John told him. 

 

“Well, debts to settle and all that jazz,” Sherlock said, trying to contain his excitement. 

 

John jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the booth. “Should I be borrowing one of those paddles?” 

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, unsure. “Are...are those really necessary?”

 

John shook his head, chuckling. “Not in the slightest. So, to yours then?” Without waiting for an answer, John’s arm was slung around Sherlock’s waist and he was guiding the pair of them towards the exit of the fair to catch a cab. 

 

The ride was an exercise in restraint for Sherlock. He wanted to ask a thousand questions. He wanted to reach out and touch John somewhere,  _ anywhere _ . He wanted to pinch himself to assure his brain that this real and not an elaborate dream. But none of that was exactly what one does with strangers in a cab so he sat silently, letting the wave of electrified curiosity run between them. 

 

John, sensing his nerves in the small, confined space, put his hand atop Sherlock’s and drawing his attention away from his internal struggle. “You know, if you’ve lost your nerve we don’t have to do this. I can ask the cab to pull over and I can go home and that’ll be the end of it. No harm, no foul.”

 

“No,” Sherlock stated plainly before the rest of him could catch up. “No, I haven’t lost my nerve, as you say.”

 

John’s expression softened and he relaxed into the back of his seat. “Then why so tense?”

 

“I don’t,” Sherlock said tongue thick in his mouth, “I don’t generally do...this,” he said gesturing between the pair of them. 

 

“What? Take home invalided soldiers for a good spanking?”

 

Sherlock laughed at that and said, “that, amongst other things.”

 

From then on it was easier. The tension uncoiled itself slowly from Sherlock, leaving him more relaxed and receptive. By the time the cab pulled up to 221 Baker St. he was at ease with the prospect of letting someone else into his space. 

 

Both figuratively and literally. 

 

Sherlock’s hands were just a touch unsteady as he pulled his keys from his pocket to let them into the flat. The door open, he stepped inside and gestured for John to follow him and, when he did, he closed the door behind them. Safe inside the dim, Sherlock finally felt safe to at the very least unbutton his Belstaff. 

 

“Would you come up?” he asked and, without expecting a reply, he lead the way to the second floor. John’s footsteps behind him sounded strangely right as they made their way up. He opened the door to his flat and hung his coat on the door, making his way to the center of the room, unsure of where to go next. 

 

The rustle of fabric made him turn to see John removing his own coat and adding it to the peg beside Sherlock’s. As if it belonged there. 

 

“So,” John said, carefully making his way over to Sherlock. “You never told me.”

 

“Told you what?”

 

“Who will be administering your spankings.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Sherlock really hadn’t given it much thought. His limited sexual encounters weren’t especially creative, surely leading to his current lack of real experience with the process. He knew what went where, the basics of what felt good. But, he had to admit, he never really experimented beyond the fact that he knew he preferred men and he preferred being penetrated. Though the mental picture of John bent over his desk was mouthwatering, the thought of Sherlock spanking anyone seemed utterly ridiculous to him. But the thought of bending over his own desk for John...now  _ that _ had some appeal. 

 

John began looking at him as if he was still unsure of Sherlock’s willingness to participate so he answered before John called it off. 

 

“I think I’d prefer it if you were to...uhm-”

 

“Yes?” John asked with a smirk, taking a step closer. 

 

“If you were to,” he paused taking a deep breath before saying what he really wanted, “s-spank me.”

 

“Of course, gorgeous,” John said, getting into Sherlock’s space and threading his hand into Sherlock’s curls. “Just one request before we get started.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

“Oh, God yes,” Sherlock replied just before John’s lips surged up to meet his own. 

 

The kiss was slow, deep, decadent. John took his time with it, sucking on Sherlock’s bottom lip before licking into his mouth to pull a satisfying groan from him. Sherlock’s hands found themselves firmly gripping John’s shoulders, holding himself steady as John effortless began picking him apart with only the movements of his lips. When the kiss ended, they both were breathless.

 

“John,” Sherlock panted.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“That was-”

 

“Yeah,” John agreed. His hand stroked along Sherlock’s cheek, petting him gently. “Now, couple of questions.”

 

“Why all this talking? I thought you were supposed to be doing your charitable duty?”

“Impatient git,” John said, chuckling softly. “The questions are so that we know where our boundaries are and no one’s put out, Sherlock.”

 

That stunned Sherlock. Asking about boundaries and comfort of a partner before just diving in and seeing what happens was not something Sherlock had ever experienced before. Granted, he was barely over his age of majority when he had conducted his own sexual experiments so perhaps his knowledge was a tad out of date. 

 

“What sort of questions?”

 

“First off,” John began. “Do you want more than just the little bit of playing we’re doing now? Kissing, the spanking. Or would you prefer that it just stays there?”

 

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked cautiously.

 

“With you? Anything. Everything. All that you want to give.”

 

Sherlock thought about it. He definitely wasn’t sure about fucking John when he had just met him. But he was so hard already and what harm could indulging in other ways do? “I don’t want to fuck you.”

 

“Fair enough-”

 

“Right now, that is.” Sherlock blushed and ducked his head. “But, perhaps. If you’re amenable. Another time?”

 

John grinned and kissed him softly once. “I think we can manage that.” 

 

“Then I think other forms of stimuli are open for discussion.”

 

“Is that your delicate way of saying that handjobs and blowjobs are on the table?” A spike of want shot through Sherlock’s transport. He shuddered and answered in the affirmative. “Excellent. Now, would you like for your clothes to be on or off when you receive your spankings?”

 

“Whichever you like,” Sherlock replied. 

 

“We’ll start with clothes on, then. See how it goes. Now, last question. Where do you want to receive your spankings?”

 

Talking out loud about it somehow seemed filthier than the act itself, even if they hadn’t done anything yet. The negotiating beforehand only served as a very present reminder of what was about to happen and it only ratcheted Sherlock’s arousal up even more. 

“The desk?”

 

John looked around Sherlock to find it cluttered with papers and books and computers and mug of forgotten tea and shook his head. Slowly, silently asking permission to do so, he pushed Sherlock’s suit jacket off his shoulders. When Sherlock made no move to stop him, he moved his hands to Sherlock’s hips and slowly guided him backwards, mindful of the piles of books on the floor. “How about you face the mirror on the mantel?” 

 

Sherlock moved willingly, turning to put his hands on the mantel, waiting patiently for John to begin. John’s hand pressed on his lower back gently, encouraging him to arch his back and stick his arse out in what he was sure was an obscene display. 

 

“There you are,” John said softly, gleefully. “Now, the deal is fifteen. Say stop at any time and we stop. Same for anything that comes after. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, John.”

 

“Good. Now, count them off for me. Ready?”

 

“Yes!” Sherlock said, impatient. John’s hand connected with Sherlock’s right arse cheek with a loud slap, jolting Sherlock out of his whinging and into the present. “Oh!”

 

“What number was that, Sherlock?”

 

“One,” Sherlock replied easily.

 

John delivered two more and Sherlock counted them dutifully. Then two more landed on his left arse cheek, making Sherlock jump and curse. “Four, five!”

 

“Good,” John praised. He reached around to Sherlock’s belt and said, “I’m going to take down your trousers now. Is that okay?”

 

“Yes, please!”

 

“Ooh, look at you with your nice manners. Keep saying ‘please’ like that and I’ll just have to reward you.”

 

John’s deft hands soon made short work of Sherlock’s belt and zip and his trousers hit the floor with a soft thud. The cool air hit the backs of Sherlock’s legs, making gooseflesh pebble on his skin. But he didn’t have long to think about it before three smacks came down on Sherlock’s left arse cheek.

 

Sherlock moaned as he counted, feeling the front of his briefs grow damp and sticky with his arousal. The slight embarrassment of being in his drafty sitting room, trousers down, being spanked like a child only added to his arousal. 

 

John’s hands came to rub the globes of Sherlock’s arse, the heated flesh complaining lightly at the friction of cloth over skin. Sherlock sighed, pushing back into John’s hands wantonly. He felt the heat of John’s breath against the back of his neck as John asked his next question. Sherlock could feel his erection prodding against him and he felt a little thrill knowing he wasn’t alone in his predicament.

 

“Your trousers look good on the floor, gorgeous. Would you like your pants to join them?”

 

“Fuck,” Sherlock said, unthinking. 

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“God, yes!”

 

John kissed the back of his neck while his fingertips teased at the waistband of Sherlock’s pants. Sherlock’s belly trembled as John carefully removed his pants, sure to avoid touching his now aching cock. Sherlock made a whine of want when John took a step back. A new wave of embarrassment washed over him, standing in his shirt, bare-arsed in front of the fireplace. 

 

It was intoxicating. 

 

He didn’t have long to think on it because before he knew it, two more swats came down. One on each bare cheek. 

 

“Eleven, twelve!”

 

“Good,” John told him, landing two more on each cheek. Sherlock counted them while John ran his hand along the hot skin he’d been spanking. Then, at last, the final smack came harder and than the others and Sherlock cried out in its wake. “Fifteen!”

 

“Well done, Sherlock,” John told him. He kissed the back of Sherlock’s neck, hands rubbing over the now abused skin of Sherlock’s arse. He ground his pelvis into him, the rough fabric of his fatigues driving Sherlock mad. 

 

“Jooohn,” he moaned, asking and complaining in the same breath.

 

“What is is, gorgeous? Need something more?”

 

“Please!”

“Well. Since you asked so nicely,” John said, amused, wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s cock. 

 

“Oh!”

 

“Ooh, look at you. Panting and shivering from a spanking. Hot and hard in my hand and positively leaking. Absolutely filthy, you are.”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock panted, finding himself in total agreement. 

 

John stroked him faster, twisting his wrist and running his thumb across the head of Sherlock’s prick while his other hand snaked its way up under his shirt. His warm, calloused hand trailed it way up and up until his fingers found their intended goal: Sherlock’s nipple. Sherlock cried out as John began torturing that nub; pinching, rubbing, and twisting until Sherlock was thrashing in John’s hold, too sensitive to stay, too aroused to leave. 

 

The onslaught of pleasure couldn’t last and, in no time, he was panting out his warning. “John, I- I’m going to-”

 

Wordlessly, John turned him around and dropped to his knees to swallow Sherlock down to the root. One hand grasping onto the mantle, shoving things off haphazardly, the other buried in John’s hair, Sherlock found himself careening towards orgasm. John’s mouth worked over him wetly, sucking and licking and swallowing until Sherlock was pulsing into his mouth. John groaned at that, swallowing around him greedily until Sherlock’s prick stopped spurting. 

 

When it was all over, Sherlock’s knees finally gave out and he began a controlled descent to the floor. John gentled his fall with a laugh.

 

“That good, eh?”

 

_ Good? Good was far too small a word. Extraordinary, outrageous, transcendent, bloody perfect _ , is what Sherlock was thinking. But, having had his brain melt out of his ears, all he could muster was a nod of agreement. He leaned forward, angling for a kiss, and John gave him one. Slow tongues and lips and silky satisfaction that had Sherlock melting all over again. 

 

Eventually, Sherlock regained his senses and broke apart with a start. “Oh! We’ve forgotten about you!”

 

John grinned back at him. “No rush, gorgeous.”

 

“Yes, rush! Move!” Sherlock said, pushing him back to lay on the floor. John was openly laughing at Sherlock’s enthusiasm but he ignored it in favor of undoing John’s trousers. Together, they worked them off his hips, soon followed by his pants and Sherlock was faced with John’s impressive cock. Never one to shy away from a challenge, he descended upon John’s erection with gusto. He knew his technique lacked finesse but John didn’t seem to care as he licked long, broad stripes up his cock before tonguing at his head. He pulled back his foreskin to mouth and suckle on John’s head, tasting his salty precome. Then slowly, inch by inch, he took John into his mouth until he hit the back of his throat. 

 

John’s hands came to rest in Sherlock’s hair and they both moaned at that. John’s hips shifted, seeking friction and movement so Sherlock gave it to him. He bobbed up and down, working him in and out, uncaring of the sounds they made or the slippery mess of saliva and fluid coating his fingers that wrapped around the base of John’s cock. 

 

In no time, John’s thighs trembled beneath him and John’s voice called to him. “Sherlock, oh fuck! I-”

 

Sherlock pulled off, pushing up John’s shirt in a moment of thoughtfulness, and began stroking him quickly. 

 

“God, Sherlock!”

 

“Yes, John,” Sherlock replied.

 

“I, I’m-”

 

“Do it,” he encouraged. 

 

With a final shout, John was coming all over his chest and Sherlock’s fingers in strong bursts. Sherlock watched, fascinated, as John twitched through his orgasm. When he was done, practically vibrating under Sherlock’s fingers, Sherlock took his hand back to study the come coating it. Intrigued, he stuck his pinky in his mouth to taste it.

 

“Do you know, if I hadn’t just come, that would have done it,” John panted, looking up at him. 

 

Sherlock blushed. “You are very silly.”

 

John giggled - _ giggled _ \- and he reached up to pull Sherlock down for a kiss. Careful to avoid the mess on John’s stomach, he indulged him and kissed him sweetly. Eventually, though, his knees complained from being on the hard floor and he winced, pulling back. Then, seeing the state John was in, he got up to get a flannel to clean him up. 

 

Once they both were clean of the evidence of their activities, they moved to the couch where somehow Sherlock’s head ended up in John’s lap and John’s hands in his hair. Not that Sherlock was complaining. He could live on the feeling of John’s hands in his hair. He could live on any of John’s touches. The thought of him going away suddenly was impossible to him. 

Without thinking, he got John’s attention and said, “move in with me.”

 

John’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

 

“Move in with me.”

 

“But,” John spat out. “But you don’t even know me!”

 

“I know you’re the best shag I’ve ever had in my life.” John blushed at that and Sherlock kept going. “I know you’re an ex-army doctor, invalided home, bored out of your mind with civilian life. I know you have an alcoholic brother and live in a bedsit that your pension just barely covers.”

 

“Putting aside for the moment how you know all that, I don’t know anything about you!”

 

“I investigate mysteries for the police when they’re out of their depth, which is always. I sometimes go days without talking and play the violin when I’m thinking. I rather like bees, chemistry, and a good cuppa. I can provide the distraction that you require.”

 

“How?”

 

Sherlock grinned and said, “move in with me and find out.”

 

John blinked stupidly at him for a few seconds before covering his eyes in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this. This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever done!”

 

“Haven’t done it yet,” Sherlock said, still grinning. 

 

“God help me,” John said, leaning down to kiss him. “When do you want me?”

 

“Now. Then again tomorrow. For a good long while,” Sherlock told him truthfully. 

 

Then, for the next several minutes, there was no talking. Only kissing, giggling, and excited touches. And, for the first time in Sherlock’s life, hope stirred in his chest and Sherlock relished knowing there was no end in sight for this particular experiment. 


End file.
